Acid Roses
by CrimsonMoon91
Summary: When a man becomes more then just an adoring fan and borders on maniacal stalker the police get involved. They decided to send in Kakashi. But what happens when he feels has alterer motives for protecting a young songstress? KakashiOC


Hey guys, thanks for clicking the little button! I'm already very appreciative that you'd consider reading my story. I'm not that big on witting really long comments before or after each chapter, but there are a couple things I'd like to say.

First off, I DON'T OWN NARUTO or any of it's characters. Though I really like writing about them.

Secondly, I'd like to point out that I've written a bunch of songs for this fanfic. I know, I'm lame, I've got nothing better to do then to make up songs for a story I'm writing about an anime show. It's nerdy, yes, but so what? If you like one of my songs then I'm happy, I think it's worth it.

That being said, I'd also like to put links in the chapters to come so that you can hear some of the actual music. Because my friend Janessa read a couple of my songs and decided it'd be cool if she and her friends made them into actual songs. So there are a couple demos I'd love for you to hear. I just have to figure out how to make it so that you can actually hear them...

Anyways, that's about it. Please read and enjoy my story. Reviews are always welcome.

Prologue

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The room was ashen, the windows tapered with cloth that looked more like banners than curtains, the glass was like a jigsaw puzzle as there were sectors that were broken while some were stamped on with stickers that either had band names or protest words on it. Walls are battered and tacked with various pictures and posters of a girl. Moving to the sparse furnishing - there's a TV, an old model that still took pride in a plastic casing looking like it was stolen from the pop artish 50s, making the static that now played seem more of a mesh of gray than the snowy kind it probably wasn't hooked up to a satellite provider. It was left open through the night worthlessly churning old interviews with members for a band that no one was really watching at this late of night.

An old battered couch was located beside the small TV. It truly had seen better days and has probably lived it's best years a long time ago, it smelt of tobacco, people and a maelstrom of other things both sanitary and hazardous to one's health. Strewn across it were clothes and some documents, more pictures, and copies of various magazines - proven research material for the UK rock music worshiper. The mess didn't end with the couch, though. The floor was littered with pieces of clothing, some empty liquor bottles and other trash.

I sat alone at my maple desk gazing over one of my latest masterpieces I held in between my uncut and unkept fingernails. I couldn't be happier with the picture I took mere hours earlier today, capturing shots like this is my life; my pride and my joy.

Within the fibers for the film paper was a picture of a girl- but not just any girl. Anyone who's anyone could tell you who it was, the bubblegum pink eyes and midnight black hair would give her away almost instantly. Fayola Fritzky was the amazing lead singer of the world famous band Acid Roses. She was gorgeous with super model potential, had an astounding singing voice, and was one of the sweetest people in show business. Those are just some of the reasons why I love her as much as I do.

At first when I heard Acid Roses I didn't think they'd last long, but I was wrong. With the beautiful Fayola as their leader, the band exploded. Now it was difficult to go anywhere without seeing something with their logo on it, or a billboard sign with their faces plastered all over it. But the ore I saw them, the more addicted I became, the more I felt I had to see them, had to heard their music, hear her voice, be near her, have her.

Now is about when people say that I 'crossed the line' between being a fan of their music and being a stalker. I prefer not to use such a nasty word as stalker. True, I may fit the profile of some previous ones, but I assure you, I am not one myself. Stalkers are people who want what they cannot have, it's a kind of forbidden love. Breaking into their beloved's hotel suite while they're playing a show, steeling something of little value but thinking of it as a precious treasure, or secretly talking pictures of them to use on those long lonely nights while you're by yourself, dreaming of the one day when you'll finally have the person of your deepest fantasies.

I ran my dirty nailed index finger against the photo I held, tracing over all the curves of her body. I am not a stalker just because I posses many of the qualities of such a person. It was true that I have proven to be quite stealthy and quick with a camera, but I will not lesson myself to such a name. As I've said before, a stalker is someone who wants what they cannot have.

"And I, my dear, will have you."

There you go. My short little prologue. I'll have another chapter out in a little while. Hopefully in the next week or so...since icky school is starting again. Yuck!

Please review!


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